


Be Assertive

by Munchy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Arthur "I'm sexually attracted to people who can and will step on me" Maxson, Fighting, Humiliation, I swear!, Light dom/sub undertones, M/M, Made some edits, Minor Violence, Negotiations, Oral Sex, PWP, Penis In Vagina Sex, Preston "I'm sarcastic to cope" Garvey, Sappy Ending, Trans Male Character, Trans Man Preston Garvey, Verbal Humiliation, and reworked it a bit, but with like actual build up, it's a lot better now, this is technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22504462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munchy/pseuds/Munchy
Summary: He grabs onto Garvey’s shirt, clenching it in his fist. Preston tries to move back, taking the other’s arm and trying to wrench it away. When he can’t he looks up at Arthur with a heated glare.Jordan was wrong.Garvey didn’t just pressthebutton.He’s pressingallhis buttons.
Relationships: Arthur Maxson/Preston Garvey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! While not my first Fallout fic, it's my first Fallout 4 fic, with a... highly unusual ship I might add, but hey, when you're a one-woman content machine, this is what you do.
> 
> Sufficient warning if you happened to not read the tags, this story does contain trans man Preston. It's not mentioned until the sex scene starts as it really doesn't have any relevance up until that point. While Maxson _clearly_ does not give a shit, Preston does for a very hot second, it passes by quickly tho (blink and you'll miss it kinda fast). Clit, slit, and nub are used to describe Preston's bits. So fair warning if you experience dysphoria.
> 
>  **EDIT**  
>  So I went back and rewrote some parts because in the long run I realized that I could do better... Like _a lot_ better. So yeah... hope you like this version more!

"Preston?" Nora calls from the doorway of her home. The one from before the War.

Preston turns with a smile but it falters when he sees that she's not dressed in her General Coat. She's got armor on, some old clothes, and a duffle bag beside her feet like she's going on a long trip. 

Still, he answers dutifully, despite the small sense of dread clawing its way up his throat, "Yes General?" 

Nora turns her head after staring at him for a moment, looking guilty when she turns back with a, "Come here for a minute." She gestures at him to go into her house. 

Preston follows and once inside he's greeted with a warm hug, "I'm sorry, Pres," she begins, "Nick got back to me…"

_ Ah. _ A lead on how to get into Kellog’s head. Valentine did say he knew some people in Goodneighbor that could help. Preston knew it was coming, he just wishes the detective had a little better timing. 

He looks at her then, a reassuring smile on his face, "It's okay, General. I'll handle the negotiations with the Brotherhood, you focus on getting Shaun back."

Nora gives him a worried look, "Are you sure? I heard Maxson can be a pain in the ass, and you'll be on his turf. The Brotherhood could throw you in the brig if you step on the wrong toes."

“We have no such thing on the Prydwen,” Comes a voice in the doorway. It’s Danse, looking a little impatient, “And I can assure you that Elder Maxson isn’t  _ that _ stubborn when it comes to his allies.”

Nora narrows her eyes at the Paladin, “This is a private conversation, Danse.”

Without skipping a beat, Danse says, “I’m aware, but the vertibird is going to leave soon and I’d rather not take three days to cross the Commonwealth.”

Nora takes a step back and looks like she’s about to start fighting with the Paladin when Preston squeezes her shoulder with a laugh, "It’s fine, General. And for once I’m with Danse on this one. I’d rather fly in style than walk.”

Nora turns back to him with a worried furrow to her brows. With eyes narrowed, she scrutinizes him for a moment. Preston knows she’s just concerned for him, and the thought leaves him surprisingly comforted. 

After a moment, he asks half-jokingly, “You really think I'd cause that much trouble?"

"You act like a goodie-two-shoes, but I know you, Pres. You're _ pure _ evil," Nora says, throwing him a playful smirk.

Preston chuckles, "I'll be fine. If anything happens, Danse will help me out," Preston gestures to the man in question and watches as he gives a firm nod.

“On my honor,” he says.

Nora still has a slightly worried look on her face despite Danse and Preston’s reassurances. After a moment of looking between the two, she sighs in defeat and goes to pick up her bag, "If you're sure Preston, I trust you. Just… don't go alone, at least bring one of the Minutemen with you. I don't wanna go kick the entire Brotherhood's ass just to bust you out."

Preston chuckles as he hears Danse scoff, "Glad to know you'll have my back no matter what  _ evil plans _ I concocted. But don't worry. Everything will be fine." He says again but doesn't feel nearly as confident as he appears.

"If you say so. Alright, Good luck, Preston. Don't give 'em an inch!" Nora says, laughing as Danse complains about how that’s not how negotiations work. 

With one last hug, she quickly goes out the door. After squeezing by Danse, she shoots the man a glare, pointing two fingers at her face before pointing at him. A not-so-subtle threat that she’ll be watching the Brotherhood. Preston laughs as he watches Danse roll his eyes with a grunt.

* * *

The flight from Sanctuary to the Prydwen goes rather smoothly, and despite wanting to appear hard and mature, Preston can’t help but occasionally watch in childlike wonder as the ruins of old Boston rush past beneath him.

But his companion for the trip, Lieutenant Tracey, doesn’t have the same luxury as she gets ill halfway through the flight. 

Preston rubs her back as Tracey huddles in her seat, head between her knees. Danse looks on with concern, but can't do much in his big power armor other than offer a paper bag.

"This happens a lot with initiates who fly for the first time, so don't feel bad Lieutenant," Danse says.

Tracey looks up, looking a little green around the gills, but giving him a shaky smile none-the-less. However, as she begins speaking, the 'bird hits some minor turbulence and her head is quickly back down with a groan.

Preston laughs and gets a smack in the arm for it.

When they finally land, Tracey doesn't get any better. Preston looks to Danse with worry.

He sighs, "It might be best if I take her down to the airport. See if solid land will get her looking less pale." 

"Thanks, Danse. I'm sorry about this," Preston says as he looks back at Tracey leaning over the railing of the flight deck. A Knight walks by with an amused expression on her face, asking if the civilian is okay.

"It's no problem at all, Garvey. I'm more worried about  _ you _ , if I’m being honest," Danse trails off. Preston turns to him, brow raised, silently asking for the other to elaborate. Danse sighs again, "I'm just— Elder Maxson is a great man, he cares about each of us and only wants good things for the people of the Commonwealth. Still, he can be…  _ rough _ when dealing with civilians."

"I'm not really a civilian," Preston corrects with an amused tone. 

"No, you're militia, but that's a far cry from what we do. He might…" Danse pauses, rolling his eyes up, trying to piece together the words he wants. He struggles with his thoughts for a minute and it’s plain to see how much Danse wants to help Preston out but also keep the Brotherhood’s Elder in high regards. Preston knows how much Danse respects his leader —he sometimes won’t shut up about all the things Maxson’s done— but the man also holds the Minutemen in high regard. It’s both amusing and flattering watching Danse struggle not to offend either of them.

Finally, after a few moments, he looks at Preston with some confidence, "He'll respect what the Minutemen do, but as far as he's concerned, you're no more than a gaggle of farmhands with guns."

"That's… brutally honest, even for you Danse." Preston says with a huff of laughter, though he's not feeling very cheerful. Still, the truth is better when less sugar coated. 

"I'm sorry, Garvey. You know I respect you and what you’ve gone through to get the Minutemen where they are today. It took a while, but I see what the Minutemen mean to the people of the Commonwealth. I was just hoping that Nora would be here. There’s no denying that she has quite a strong personality." Danse admits.

"So, you’re saying I don’t?” Preston asks in amusement, not really sounding that offended. 

Danse seems flustered as he tries to answer, “ _ No! _ Just— Dealing with Elder Maxson, and the Brotherhood as a whole always goes better with a particular tone…” 

Preston chuckles, “Tone, huh? Alright, what do you suggest?" 

Danse pauses for a moment before putting his big, metal hand against Preston's shoulder, "For the love of God, Garvey,  _ be assertive _ . If you're not, Elder Maxson will eat you whole," he looks both worried and serious. 

Preston blinks. Danse continues to stare at him like he’s about to deliver the absolute worst kind of news.

He knows he can be assertive, aggressive, but was it really that hard to see that in him? He’s definitely not the man he once was half a year ago, the memories of Quincy and Concord are still very much present, waking him in the middle of the night with a choked off yelp. Even he’ll admit that he’s still got a long way to go in terms of recovery, but he’s past the point of feeling guilty, of knowing that he did all he could with what he had. He’s getting better.

So, why does it feel like everyone’s treating him like he’s made of glass suddenly? Especially now with this Brotherhood business. Was it not obvious that he's capable of getting things done on his own? That he's getting better? That there’s still a fire in him to keep helping those in need no matter what? 

“Have I offended you?” Danse suddenly asks. It takes a moment for Preston to realize that he’s glaring at the other, lost in his own thoughts.

“Uh, no I—” he pauses, shaking his head before smiling at the other, “I’ve got it. Thanks, big guy." 

Danse tilts his head in confusion, not really looking convinced, but his expression becomes softer and nods, "Alright, good luck Garvey. We’ll see you on the ground."

Preston smiles up at the Paladin, about to give another reasurrense that he’s got this until the sounds of Tracey getting sick over the railing breaks them apart. 

* * *

Nia Williams, the Knight that initially was helping Lieutenant Tracey, escorts Preston to the hastily put-together meeting room. She asks about Tracey the entire time and Preston has half a mind to just give the woman the Minutemen radio frequency just so they can talk to each other.

“Here we are, Colonel Garvey. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask one of the Initiates or Squires,” she says as they approach the door.

“Thank you, Knight Williams," he pauses, leaning in closer, "I think Lieutenant Tracey will be feeling a lot better now, so if you hurry down, you might be able to talk with her more."

Williams salutes with a grin, "Copy that, Colonel!" She makes a beeline for the flight deck,a beaming smile and a determined look in her eyes.

Preston chuckles at the show of eagerness as he turns to head into the meeting room. The two Brotherhood Knights standing guard beside the door greet him with a nod. Their Gatling guns make Preston wary, the absence of his musket makes him more keenly aware of its current location at the airport rather than it’s comfortable weight on his back. 

Preston shakes his head. He should be fine. The Brotherhood isn’t going to just start shooting at him. They aren’t Gunners. Still, he manages to startle himself as his eyes wander the interior of the Prydwen for escape routes all on their own.

He knocks on the meeting room door and hears a deep, “Come in.”

When he enters, he’s greeted by a tall, broad-shouldered man. His full beard and long scar makes him look rather old despite being told the Elder was young, and his neutral expression demands respect. His cool gaze slides up and down Preston’s form for a brief second, making Preston tense at the supposed judging look. Suddenly, he reaches over the meeting table to shake his hand.

“Elder Maxson of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel,” Maxson greets.

Preston blinks, but quickly gives a courteous smile back, “Colonel Preston Garvey of the Minutemen. I’m sorry to say, but the General had a sudden emergency that needed to be attended to,” he informs as he takes Maxson’s offered hand and shakes. Even though he’s aware how strong the other is, just based on the stories alone, Preston still finds himself surprised by the strength of Maxson’s grip.

“Yes, I was made aware,” Maxson gestures to one of the seats at the meeting table, “Please. I’d like to get started with those negotiations.”

Preston does as he’s asked and takes a seat, pointedly ignoring the impatient tone in Maxson’s voice. He looks down at the map of the Commonwealth before him and starts forming some ideas.

* * *

Things… are not going so well. 

It isn’t so much the trading negotiations. While the routes already established were fine, Maxson seems to want a lot more than what the Minutemen, or the people of the Commonwealth for that matter, can reasonably provide.

And Maxson himself was _ infuriating, _ to say the least. Danse was right, Maxson may not say it, but he does hold the Minutemen with more contempt than Preston thought. It reminds him of how the people would look at the General and himself before they managed to prove themselves, and it leaves him speaking with a bitter tone without meaning to.

“Elder Maxson, I understand that you need a lot of materials for your men, but I’ve told you, settlers can’t readily make those supplies available,” Preston explains again. It felt like hours had gone by, and he was past exhausted with this.

“I’m aware, however, I’m also aware that many of the surpluses from other settlements in this quadrant can be allocated. If it’s a problem with compensation, I can assure you the Brotherhood can pay for them.” Maxson says as he points to the northeastern part of the map. His tone sounds grated, agitated at having to repeat himself. 

Preston sighs, pinching his brow, “And I’ve told  _ you _ , the surplus from Salem goes to the settlements at South Boston. They’ve had some bad crops, and on top of that those Gunners have been giving them problems,” Preston says with a hint of self deprecation, “ So,  _ obviously _ they need the supplies for the coming winter.”

“I have no problem with allocating a few patrols in the area if the problem is that simple to solve,” Maxson says.

Preston blinks, his mind going blank momentarily at the insinuation that  _ any _ of this is a “ _ simple problem _ ”.

“It’s not, Elder Maxson,” he begins rather bluntly, “You shouldn’t underestimate the Gunners. Or any raider groups, Super Mutant strongholds, and feral ghoul infested buildings for that matter. I’m not going to pretend I know how these things have been handled in the Capital Wasteland, but these hostiles have dug in like a bloodbugs over the years with little to no resistance,” Preston taps on the map, growing increasingly more frustrated, “A few patrols isn’t going to solve these issues. It feels like you’re not listening.”

Maxson glares at him, “I definitely am. Feels like you’re making excuses.”

Preston blinks, “Excuse me?”

Maxson sighs, “It feels like you’re being biased. You’re right, you don’t know how things are handled in the Capital Wasteland, but we didn’t just expect things to get taken care of by a stronger force. Not only the Brotherhood, but settlements all over the Capital were fighting everyday, even at our collective weakest,” his voice suddenly sounds judgemental, “I understand that the Minutemen isn’t at their best currently, but you can’t expect the Brotherhood to offer so much in exchange for meager supplies.”

“ _ Meager? _ ” Preston clenches his fists, “You’re the one asking for these  _ meager _ supplies,” he gets the satisfaction of Maxson making a slightly surprised look, “Look, I’ve been trying to tell you for hours now that we won’t have the supplies you need unless you can offer support in helping the Minutemen deal with these threats more permanently. I don’t understand how that’s so hard to grasp. I’m trying to work with you here, Elder Maxson, but this is a two-way street.”

Maxson begins to stand, “I can’t just send my men to deal with something the Minutemen should be able to handle on their own. If you want to have any trade agreements with the Brotherhood, we need something worth our time. I’m not risking their lives for scraps. We’re not just some mercenary group you can deploy at your leisure!”

Preston stands as well, “That’s not what I’m saying! Again, I don’t think you’re fully listening to me. These groups are far more formidable than you think,” he feels tense, his toes curling in his boots trying to reason with the Elder. _ God _ , it’s like arguing with Nora. Stubborn to the core with a bit of childish tantrum mixed in.

“Well, perhaps if the Minutemen did what they were set out to do in the first place then perhaps you wouldn’t be having this problem,” Maxson growls.

Preston feels his jaw clench. Damn it, he hates when Danse is right, “I’m well aware of my people’s shortcomings, trust me,” he says through clenched teeth, voice growing thick, “But to think that we can just deal with these threats now when we’re barely able to supply  _ ourselves _ , is ridiculous.”

Maxson rolled his eyes, “Yes, and you think my brothers and sisters can just swoop in to save your rag-tag group of settlers. We aren’t some charity, Colonel Garvey.”

“We’re trying to help the people of the Commonwealth,” Preston says, hearing his voice become louder as the conversation continues, “It’s more than what the Brotherhood is doing,” he spits the name out like a curse.

Maxson sends him a scathing glare, “We’re doing far more than your sorry excuse for a military force!”

“And what are you doing?! As far as the people think, you’re here to strong-arm them out of their hard-earned supplies!”

“Watch your tone, Garvey! You can’t understand why—”

Preston steps into Maxson’s space, “Oh, I can understand perfectly fine. My _ ‘farmhands’  _ may not be up to par with your Knights, but at least they’re willing to risk their lives to protect those in need. All you do is show up and expect free handouts!”

Maxson looks furious, “You’re militia can barely hold their own! I heard what happened in Quinc—”

Preston suddenly grabs Maxson’s coat lapels, not letting the man say anymore. Not letting him spit on the graves of good people he failed to protect. He throws Maxson into the adjacent wall, furthest from the door, with a loud thud. He watches in slight satisfaction as the other man has to take a moment to regain his breath, surprised by Preston’s outburst.

Preston goes to say something scathing and bitter, letting the pent up rage burst out, but Maxson acts fast. Preston is thrown to the floor, the younger on top of him pinning his legs down, and gets a punch in the cheek.

Everything happens far too fast for Preston to mentailly keep up. Preston grabs Maxson’s wrist before the next punch lands and rolls them over, surprising the other. Maxson nearly slams his head into the corner of the table as he’s slammed onto the floor. Preston manages to get on top of the younger and knees Maxson in the stomach. He hears Maxson gasp then groan under him and takes that as his queue to nail the guy in the face. He feels something catch into his knuckles and pulls away to see Maxson’s nose gushing blood.

Suddenly, with surprising strength, Maxson grabs Preston by his vest and throws him off. Preston lands hard onto the floor again, landing on his side and knocking the air out of his lungs. As Maxson rolls over to get up, Preston pushes through the pain in his arm and tackles the other back onto the ground. He gets on top of Maxson’s back, pinning his legs down with his own and grabs onto the man’s arms, bending and yanking them up. He hears the Elder make a grave yelp. 

Quickly, Preston takes his scarf with a free hand, untangling it and wrapping it around Maxson’s arms and wrists. He ties them together tightly, despite Maxson trying to buck him off. When he finishes, he grabs Maxson by the hair and pushes his face into the floor. Blood smear onto the metal. 

“Are we done?” Preston says, breathing heavily. Maxson struggles for a few moments, trying to wrench his arms and legs free, but eventually stops moving when he sees he’s not getting free any time soon. Preston has a moment to enjoy Maxson’s flushed face, feeling his body rise and fall with Maxson’s labored breaths. Then the younger man grunts, going very still.

Preston twists his grip in Maxson’s hair, tugging on it, “Well?”

Maxson grunts again, almost sounding like a choked off cough. He doesn’t say a word but nods instead. Preston eyes him curiously, but lets go of Maxson’s hair and lets himself catch his breath.

They stay like that for a moment, trying to calm down and feeling their bodies catch up to their injuries. Preston can feel his arm and cheek ache, throbbing with his pulse. He starts making a mental list of what he needs to check his arm for and what medicine he brought along when Maxson begins wiggling.

“Can you…” Maxson says, voice thick and grainy.

The sudden realization of what he’d just done and who he’s currently laying on, slaps Preston in the face like cold, irradiated water, “ _ Oh! _ Right,” Preston says awkwardly as he moves off of Maxson in a rush, feeling rather uncomfortable.

When Preston stands to brush himself off he looks over at Maxson, who remains on the floor, probably too embarrassed to get up. He may have ruined those negotiations. Nora was going to kill him if the Brotherhood doesn’t find out first.

“Uh… I—” Preston begins with an uneasy tone as bends down to untie the makeshift bindings. However, he gets interrupted before he can even touch the Elder.

“It’s _ fine! _ Just… Go!” Maxson growls, facing away from the other and letting blood smear across his cheek as he does. His deep voice sounds incredibly on edge.

Preston flinches back and bites his lip, “Look, Elder Maxson, I’m sorry for—”

“ _ Garvey _ ,” he says through clenched teeth. There’s a short pause before Maxson speaks again with a more cordial tone, “We will talk about this tomorrow. Have one of the Squires escort you to some spare quarters down by the airport.” 

Preston sighs. What has he done?

Quickly, he gets up, looking back at Maxson’s prone form one last time before quickly leaving the meeting room. He tries to not let the Knights guarding the door stop him as he briskly walks to the flight deck. Anxiety hits him harder with every replay of what happened, churning his stomach. He can feel heat rise up his neck out of embarrassment for himself, for acting so stupid. 

He needs to get out of here.

* * *

Maxson feels his hips twitch against the floor as he lays there, feeling dejected.

His face flushes more at the way Garvey managed to pin him down earlier, strong hands tying him down to get him under control. His hips twitch again, toes curling in his boots.

He’s incredibly hard. 

He grits his teeth and gives into a single roll of his hips, gasping at the minute amount of relief it offers. 

He thinks for a brief moment, lost in his lust, how he might like it more if Garvey were still here, watching his shame as he tries to get off on the damn floor.

There’s knocking at the door.

“Elder Maxson? Is everything alright?”

Arthur groans, “God  _ dammit _ …” He thunks his head against the floor, trying to compose himself as he attempts to untie Garvey’s scarf from around his wrists.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll write Absolute Virgin (tm) Arthur Maxson, but today is not that day...
> 
> As mentioned in the previous chapter: Clit, slit, folds, and nub are used to describe Preston's bits. So fair warning if you experience dysphoria.

“Christ almighty, Colonel! What the  _ hell _ did you do?!” Tracey says as she presses a cold compact against Preston’s cheek.

“Probably something bad, I’m sure,” Preston says sarcastically, hissing when the cold compact presses against the already forming bruise. The old leather seats of the airport are a lot more comfortable than the rickety chairs in that meeting room at least.

“I just don’t understand how you of all people could get into a _ fistfight _ with Elder Maxson,” Danse says beside them, cleaning oil off of his hands. He’d been making some adjustments to his power armor, — away from Proctor Ingram’s judgemental eyes— when Garvey showed up, looking worse for wear, “More surprising is that you  _ won, _ ” he says with a hint of awe in his voice.

“I didn’t mean to, Danse. It just… happened,” Preston takes the compress and holds it, “You were right though, Maxson’s an ass.” He keeps thinking of how the man almost mentioned Quincy, smearing its name and memory like it were brahmin shit on his boots. The memory makes his gut wrench in anger.

Danse looks off to the side, muttering, “I didn’t say  _ that… _ ”

Tracey sighs, “Well, at least you get the chance to grovel at his feet tomorrow.”

“I’ll apologize for starting the fight, but I’m not going to beg for forgiveness for what he said about us, Lieutenant,” Preston says, looking up at the woman. He spots a bit of concern in her brown eyes. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted.

“Well good for you Garvey!” Knight Williams cheers atop her own power armor as she works on the frame, “At least you’ve proven you got a backbone,” she says with a laugh.

“Knight Williams!” Danse chastises. 

“What? From what I heard, Elder Maxson likes ‘em tough,” Williams says while taking a swig from a bottle of Nuka Cola.

Preston blinks, “Excuse me?”

Williams laughs, “Nothing!”

Preston looks over to Danse, a curious expression on his face. Danse’s menacing glare flicks from Williams to him and softens considerably. He coughs, “It’s nothing, Garvey. You’ll be fine.”

* * *

Arthur walks into the mess hall and everything suddenly stops. His brothers and sisters looking at the large bruise on his nose and split lip. With one keen glare, everyone quickly goes back to what they were doing. 

All except one.

“Maxson!” Comes a jovial voice. He feels a large hand tug him down onto a seat.

Arthur grunts, “Lancer Knight Jordan…” He can feel his eye twitching.

“You know you can just call me Jordan, or ya know… Henry. We’ve known each other since we were both Initiates,” Jordan says with an exaggerated pout.

Arthur gives up and turns in his seat, facing the table. Henry slides over a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes as an offering, “What do you want?” He glares at his old companion.

Jordan smiles, “Oh nothing! Just wanna know how you got that shiner,” he points to the bruise on Maxson’s nose, “You didn’t happen to get into a fight with another Deathclaw, did ya?”

“No, just…” Arthur stops himself from saying anything more and instead, grabs a snack cake and shoves it in his mouth. He feels like a child.

“ _ Just… _ ?” Henry slides closer to him.

Arthur glares at him, “Did you ever stop to wonder  _ why _ you’ve never been promoted to Lancer-Sargent, Jordan?” 

“Nepotism?” He smirks. Arthur groans.

Jordan wouldn’t be wrong per se. Arthur had known him for a long time, probably one of his first real friends he ever had at the Citadel. Hell, Henry was there, after the fight with the deathclaw, dragging an injured Maxson back to the rest of the troops. But fondness wasn’t entirely the reason Henry hasn’t been promoted yet. No, it was his constant need to get Arthur’s attention, even if that meant bugging the living hell out of him.

“You know that when you’ve proven yourself capable, I won’t hesitate to give you what you deserve,” Arthur says with honesty, “But until then, most of the reports I’m handed about you are complaints.” 

“Does that,” Jordan points to the bruise again, as though proving the other’s point, “Have anything to do with that Minuteman guy that came here?” 

“You’re an _ ass _ …” Arthur deadpans.

Jordan snorts, “What? I was just asking.” A pause, “Did you like it?”

Arthur feels himself fluster. He turns, “Jordan!”

“Oh my god…” Henry says, eyes widening, “You _ did. _ ”

“Lancer Jordan, I am warning you—”

He goes quiet, “He pressed… you’re _one_ _button._ ”

Arthur stands then, stomping away. He tries to ignore the blush creeping up his neck and the loud laughter of his friend.

When he gets to his private quarters, he roughly digs through the pocket of his coat, pulling out Garvey’s green scarf. He thumbs the stitch work for a moment, imagining Preston mending it beside a fire. His face set in a concentrated pinch, a pink tongue peeking out. The fire casting gold flecks against his umber skin. 

Imagines the man turning towards him then, shooting him a scathing glare with those beautiful brown eyes, before calling Arthur out on his behavior. Degrading him, calling him names, taking him down a peg or two. Things no one else  _ dared _ to do since Sarah was still around.

Arthur sighs in frustration, feeling his face heat up as he buries it in the scarf.

* * *

Arthur finds himself on the ground. It’s night and the air is freezing against his skin but feels nice on the bruise. He walks inside the airport walls, trying to find the spare rooms they set up specifically to house the Minutemen during the negotiations.

He still has Garvey’s scarf folded neatly in his pocket.

Grumbling to himself he nods to the Initiates standing guard. They salute with panicked expressions on their faces and eyes wide with admiration, but still clearly wondering what the Elder is doing there at this time of night. 

They stutter as he asks where Garvey’s quarters are, surprised that they’re even being addressed in the first place. It’s… irritating to think that his own men feel as though he can’t be approached. He’s been treated as though he were some kind of god ever since his rise to power, and while sometimes useful, he’s never felt good about the image the Brotherhood has given him. He’s simply human, a soldier like all the rest. There’s no need to worship the ground he walks on like some kind of savior.The Lyons saw that, and treated him no differently. Sarah especially. Why is it so hard for everyone else to do the same? 

At least Preston seems to have gotten the idea, with his biting remarks and hard punches.

_ Saint Monica, _ he needed help.

After excruciatingly gathering some intel, he’s back on his path, beelining it to Preston’s small room.

Arthur stops in front of the door, shifting from foot to foot, not entirely sure how to proceed. He’s never been this flustered before. It’s ridiculous. 

A voice in his head, sounding an awful lot like Lancer Jordan talks about button pushing, and Maxson shakes his head to rid himself of it. This is absurd, he’s the Elder of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel. Not some love-struck teenager. 

He clears his throat and knocks on the door. After a few moments, Preston’s tired face appears as the door opens.

Preston blinks at him, clearly surprised by Arthur’s presence. It’s obvious that the man was about to go to sleep, only wearing his pants and a long sleeve shirt. After a moment of staring at each other, Garvey speaks,

“Oh! Elder Maxson! Uhh… Can I help you?” He looks as confused as he sounds.

Arthur feels heat coming to his face and tries to will it away. He coughs, “Yes, I…” He pauses as he holds out Preston’s scarf, “I wanted to give this back to you.”

Garvey looks at it, “You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”

Arthur’s thoughts stutter. Why _ didn’t _ he wait? Garvey sighs after getting no answer and opens the door a little more and steps out of the way.

“Come in then, since you’re here. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

Arthur clears his throat and obeys. 

Once inside the tiny makeshift room, he turns to find Preston looking uneasy. Maxson avoids eye contact, feeling a little bad about causing such an awkward rift.

“Look, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about getting worked up the way I did,” Preston begins, “I just… Quincy is a tough subject.” He goes quiet for a moment.

Arthur looks at him and sees the uncomfortableness in him. To the way he stands to the pinched look on his face, it all screams unsettled. Arthur wonders if the man has gotten enough sleep as he observes the bags under Preston’s eyes. He notes the laser musket beside the cot, right within reach and just  _ knows _ then and there what the answer is. Arthur knows what bad experiences can do to a person. Has seen the glazed look Danse sometimes gets when he’s wandering the Prydwen at night. Has watched the way Jordan flinches from loud, sudden sounds on occasion. Hell, he’s had his own fair share of nightmares over bad choices made. Regret tinging his voice as he wakes up with a scream caught in his throat.

“And I’m sorry about bringing it up. Quincy was a tragedy, but the Minutemen have come a long way since then,” he keeps his gaze on the ground, still not sure if he can look the other in the eye just yet. He’s half afraid of the response he’ll get. The other half is afraid his mind will go to inappropriate places if he looks at Preston again. It doesn’t help the building awkward tension in the tiny room.

He hears the man sigh, “It’s just… Look, Elder Maxson, I know we’re both frustrated about the supply routes. I can tell you it constantly worries me whether settlers will get enough to get through a month let alone a season. But it feels as though you haven’t taken into consideration anything I’ve said.” Arthur looks up to see Garvey looking away with annoyance. He lets the man continue to air his grievances, remaining silent out of respect. 

“It’s not just supply routes or food I have to spend all my concern on, though. I have raiders, Gunners, super mutants, synths and coursers running around, attacking settlements almost every day. The people need someone to help them, and the Minutemen are trying their best, but we haven’t fully recovered yet,” Preston pushes himself off the wall and begins pacing. Arthur watches him with caution, recognizing the building frustration. He’s… He’s getting a lecture, an honest to God, lecture. Arthur feels a pull in his gut and tenses. His thoughts and body betraying him in the worst way.

Garvey continues, not having noticed the change in Arthur, “I more than anyone else hates to admit it, but the Minutemen need support from the Brotherhood. Without help, the settlements just… get wiped off the map,  _ die. _ We can’t keep up with all the problems that currently plague the Commonwealth. 

“But then the Brotherhood arrives and starts demanding supplies from people just barely scraping by, becoming another problem on that long list. And I have to deal with it. I’ve tried to be reasonable, but it feels like the Brotherhood is just here to make a mess and leave for someone else to clean up,” Garvey complains.

“I understand your frustration—” Arthur begins, voice cracking as he tries in desperation to banish the blush coming up his neck.

Garvey snaps at him, “No, I don’t think you do, Maxson! I don’t know how you think things run down here, but let me tell you, whatever you’re thinking is wrong! I know the Brotherhood is here to deal with the Institute. I understand the threat you’re trying to combat, as does everyone else. It’s admirable, but we’ve been living with it for over _ a hundred years! _ If you think that just by showing up, you’ll suddenly get the respect of the Commonwealth and its people, you’re an idiot,” Garvey stops pacing and gets into Maxson’s space again, just as he did on the Prydwen earlier. Arthur has to fight off the flush he knows is coming. He feels like a child being berated. 

“Look at how long and how much it took for the Minutemen to get that respect back! You can’t just go around and— and strong-arm people into doing what you want. You can’t walk around as though your God’s gift to mankind. I don’t know how it is in the Capital Wasteland, but here, that’s not gonna fly,” Garvey is closer again, looking Arthur in the eye, “So, are you gonna finally get off your high horse or are we going to continue to have a problems?”

Fuck, Arthur feels himself getting hard again. What was _ wrong  _ with him?

He grabs onto Garvey’s shirt, clenching it in his fist. Preston tries to move back, taking the other’s arm and trying to wrench it away. When he can’t he looks up at Arthur with a heated glare.

Jordan was wrong.

Garvey didn’t just press  _ the _ button.

He’s pressing _ all _ his buttons.

Arthur has exactly one second to think about the consequences of this revelation. To think about how Jordan is gonna rub this in his face for  _ years. _ To think about how this might make him enemy number one with the entirety of the Minutemen. 

He finds himself not caring all that much and pulls Garvey in and kisses him.

* * *

Preston feels his back hit the wall of his small room with a light thud. Maxson’s mouth is on his with a desperate intensity that leaves him overwhelmed and shocked and speechless. He feels the rising heat in his body as Arthur’s mouth opens and a tongue grazes his bottom lip, his beard scratching at his face pleasantly. 

Preston grabs ahold of Maxson’s coat, when the man rolls his hips against him, feeling the bulge there. He manages to push Arthur away enough to finally get a word in.

“ _ Seriously? _ ” He sounds as shocked as he feels.

Maxson’s face is a pretty shade of pink as he stares at Preston with wide, blue-steel eyes, “I…” His hips twitch again, probably not of his own volition, yet Maxson’s face grows redder, almost mortified by himself.

The awkward tension grows, but Preston can’t help but feel a familiar pull in his gut at the heat growing between their bodies. He watches Arthur’s gaze flick back and forth between his lips and the wall, partially out of embarrassment, partially from arousal. Steel-blue eyes suddenly meet his own and Preston’s breath leaves him as he sees the glazed lust there. Not many people have looked at him like that in a while, and it’s definitely doing things.

For a moment, they watch each other, wonder what the other will say or do, but when nothing happens, Maxson releases a shaky sigh before leaning back in for another kiss. This time, when he licks at Preston’s mouth, the other obliges. Preston sighs as he feels the heat of a tongue sliding next to his, licking into his mouth with sloppy incoordination. In his slight haze, he finds himself surprised by Arthur’s inexperience in this, but the eagerness more than makes up for it.

Arthur finally lets his hands relax from Preston’s shirt, becoming softer, gentler, as they slowly slide down Preston’s ribs, feeling the bone and muscle through the thin, cotton shirt. Preston shudders and carefully wraps his hands around Arthur’s shoulders, gripping at the leather coat. 

Arthur breaks the kiss first and buries his face in Preston’s neck. Leaves a trail of wet kisses down to the shirt collar before nipping at the junction between neck and shoulder. Preston bites his lip as he feels Arthur’s scratchy beard against his skin, rubbing it raw. He’ll definitely have marks tomorrow. At least Arthur brought his scarf back.

Then, Maxson is suddenly on his knees.

Preston’s mind goes completely blank as the younger unbuttons his pants. The only thought in his head being, _ “He looks  _ good  _ down there.” _

He watches with wide eyes as Maxson pulls down both his pants and briefs at once and his brain kickstarts back into reality with a panic. A sharp feeling tugs at his chest as he grabs Arthur’s shoulders, ready to push the man away and bolt out the door, but Arthur simply buries his mouth between his legs. Preston feels a startle sound catch in his throat as he feels a hot, wet tongue run from slit to nub.

Preston has just enough time to grab Arthur’s hair and twist his grasp before a shudder runs up his body. He gasps loudly as Arthur licks at his clit then trails back down to his opening, running his mouth around his sensitive folds. He feels himself getting wetter as Arthur’s tongue traces his slit, dipping in occasionally. Thumbs press into his hips, rubbing against the jutting bone, but refrains from bruising. Arthur’s beard roughly leaves marks on his inner thighs, marking them too. 

Preston hears himself groan before his other hand can come up to silence himself. Maxson echoes the sound and licks deeper inside him. He feels the vibration go through him and he shudders, feeling himself gush. He’s completely overwhelmed, head knocking back against the wall and catching every sound he wants to make in his throat. He feels another moan rock through him as Arthur flicks his nub again. Preston yanks Maxson’s head back, watching his adam's apple bob. Arthur gasps before looking right at him and licking his lips. Preston feels heat travel up his neck as he looks at Maxson’s glazed eyes and red face. His beard and mouth covered in Preston’s slick.

It’s been… a long time since he’d last slept with someone. Trusted someone enough to let them this close, make him this vulnerable. But the way Arthur looks, kneeling for him with a pretty flush on his serious face, makes Preston’s pulse jump. A feeling of control he’s never felt like he had in a long time, sends a spike of arousal through him that makes him tremble.

How can he go from a fistfight to fucking with the same man in one day? What has gotten into him? Was this  _ normal _ for the Brotherhood?

Preston bites back a whimper when Arthur’s hands move from his hips, down to his thighs, squeezing them in order to spread them. Preston gently smacks them away, pushing them down with one hand, too overwhelmed by all of this.

To his surprise, Arthur relents and moves his arms down onto his lap, fingers clutching at his legs, looking dejected.

Punished.

Waiting for permission.

Preston trembles at the sight and takes his pants the rest of the way off, leaving him bare from the waist down. He hears Maxson whimper, and it does things to him he didn’t expect at all.

Preston licks his lips as he looks down at Arthur, feeling charged in a way he can’t explain. Experimentally, he says, “Sit,” and watching in awe as Maxson shifts from his knees to his ass, spread legs bent in front of him. He releases a shaky breath, letting the warmth and musk in the air take fill his lungs with need. He then kneels astride the other, planting himself squarely in Maxson’s lap.

Arthur groans softly with a reedy sound to it, but still trying to keep himself quiet. Looking wanton even with an irritated expression, like he’s struggling against his own needs, he bites his bottom lip red and breathes. Preston feels Maxson’s hips twitch against him, the bulge rubbing against his opening. He makes a shaky, quiet sound as the hard leather of the Brotherhood suit rubs against his clit.

Preston finds himself chuckling breathlessly then, running his hands against the shaved sides of Maxson’s head before grabbing at the strands in the back and tugging gently. He’s rewarded with Arthur’s choked off moan and it makes his gut twist in the most pleasant of ways.

Preston rolls his hips with a grunt, hearing Arthur gasp at the friction between him. He keeps his hands on the ground, but his arms shake with pleasure as he ruts up slightly to meet the rolling movement the other man is torturing him with. 

Preston leans in and kisses the younger. His tongue presses inside that infuriating mouth and sighs as Arthur moans again. Slowly, he moves his hand down to cup Arthur’s cock through the ridiculous Brotherhood uniform he’s always wearing. He feels the man cant his hips against his palm and gently rubs it, eliciting a shudder from Arthur.

“Ah— fuck…” he whispers through clentched teeth.

“You were the one to put me in a closet with walls as thin as paper,” Preston whispers back, an amused smirk on his lips. 

“I  _ know _ ,” Arthur grunts, cutting himself off as another soft sound leaves him.

Preston chuckles, “Don’t take that tone with me.” He watches in delight as Arthur flush deepends. 

He starts tugging at the buckles and belts of the uniform, growing more frustrated, before he finally pries himself away with, “How the hell do you take this thing off?”

Arthur chuckles with amusement, a deep sound that does a lot of things to Preston, and large, trembling hands join his, pulling at a few things. Preston watches with a warm feeling in his gut as Arthur pulls out his cock and lets it rest on Preston’s inner thigh. It’s thick and uncut, almost a painful red at the head of the long shaft. Preston takes it, rubbing against the long vein with his thumb and feels it twitch in his palm. Arthur bites his fist, groaning around it as Preston pumps his cock slowly. 

He grabs a chunk of Arthur’s hair and pulls his head back, leaving a trail of kisses into his beard as he pulls back the foreskin and teases the slit. Preston feels the vibration of another moan against his lips as he sucks a mark into Arthur’s neck. He kneels up on trembling legs, taking Maxson’s cock and rubs the head against his cunt, letting the other feel how wet he is from nub to slit. Arthur whimpers, one hand clawing at the ground as he tries to keep both him and Preston up. The other covers his mouth, making a pretty sight for Preston. 

After a few minutes of relentlessly teasing Arthur, Preston finally slides his cock inside him, feeling the girth stretch him slowly as he settles. When he’s fully seated, he clenches down, shuddering at the feel of Arthur twitching inside him. He cants his hips slightly, wanting more, moaning quietly in the space between them. Preston hears Arthur choke off a groan and looks up to find the man breathing heavily, eyes closed, and a deep flush on his face. He looks gorgeous. 

“Hey,” he waits until the younger looks up at him with glazed eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, “You okay?” Preston asks gently, breathing deeply. He scratches the back of Arthur’s scalp causing the man to tremble.

Arthur removes his hand, but the only thing that comes out is a whimper, making Preston clench around him again. At that, Arthur ruts up, diving impossibly deeper than he already is. Preston shuts his eyes, shuddering, and begins rolling his hips, soft groans leave his lips. 

The slide of Arthur’s cock against his walls becomes slicker, shallow thrusts. Preston presses his forehead against the other’s, both panting into the space between them.

Quietly, Arthur says, “C-can I?”

“Can you what?” Preston asks breathlessly as Arthur gently rolls his hips up, hitting that spot that makes him see stars.

“Touch you?”

Preston nods without hesitation, biting back a whimper as large, warm hands rub up his thighs, leaving goosebumps behind. Rough fingertips and callus palms run further and further up, toying and teasing skin just under the hem of Preston’s shirt. Arthur never travels farther, waiting for permission, to be told he can. It sparks a fire in Preston’s gut.

Spreading his legs, Preston grabs one of Arthur’s hands and presses callused fingers against his clit, encouraging Maxson to move in circles. When Arthur gets the idea quickly, he presses roughly against the bundle of nerves, earning reedy moans from the older man that’s just on the edge of too loud.

“That’s—” Preston twitches his hips faster, nearly bouncing in Maxson’s lap, “Yes, right there— S’good,” he praises, tugging at Arthur’s hair. He brings him in for a sloppy kiss, hearing Arthur whine against his mouth. There's a squelching sound as Preston moves faster, fucking himself on Arthur’s cock, getting closer to his release. Arthur bucks his hips up to meet him, hitting that spot over and over, making Preston tremble.

He grows louder with each bounce of his hips, no longer able to quiet himself, and not really in a state of mind to care. Arthur whimpering with him with every thrust of his hips and drag of his finger tips. Preston pulls Arthur close, brushing his cheek against Arthur’s temple, planting kisses down the side of his face in an attempt to quiet himself. Maxson catches his lips with a sloppy finesse that has him moaning loudly.

Suddenly, everything crescendos into something taught and bright and hot. Preston’s body going rigid as he twists his grip in Maxson’s hair. He bites down on his lip and covers his mouth to quiet himself even if it’s far too late, and Maxson’s cock shallowly continues thrusting into him milking him for all he’s got. Arthur’s fingers still rub circles through his release making his body twitch as he clenches around the other like a vice. Maxson himself is breathing hard, hiding a whimper with each pull of his lungs.

As Preston starts to come down, everything slows to a crawl. His body feels like rubber as he massages the back of Arthur’s scalp, hips stuttering as Arthur removes his hands and leans back on them again. He kisses a warm trail over the younger's face, following the scar, then over his bruised nose, and down to his lips. Maxson whines into it with a wanton flinch of his hips. 

“Shhh, I got you,” Preston says as he pulls himself off Arthur’s still hard cock. He cups Arthur’s face with one hand, while the other gently grabs a hold of Arthur’s dick. Feeling Arthur shudder, he mercilessly teases the head only for a moment before stroking him. He gently kisses Arthur’s bearded cheek, watching with sudden delight at how glazed the other’s eyes are. 

It only takes three pumps before Arthur’s voice pitches and he shudders. Thick, white fluid runs down Preston’s hand as he rubs the younger through his release. He feels each pulse through his palm as Arthur trembles beside him. 

They both sit there for a long time, both panting as they come back to themselves. Preston grimaces as he looks at his hand. Arthur reaches into his coat then, pulling out a small handkerchief with a shaky hand and cleaning them both with it with slow precision. 

He mutters a, “Sorry…”

Preston locks eyes with him, watching his stoic face despite how disheveled he looked everywhere else, “For what?”

Arthur’s face goes tato red and ducks, concentrating on wiping away his own spend on Preston’s hand, “For finishing without permission,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

Preston stares at him. Blinks. Opens his mouth and pauses. Closes it.

“I said I got you...” he croaks, not exactly knowing how to respond. 

Arthur pauses, eyes going a little wide before coughing into his hand, “I see…” 

The two sit in silence again, the minutes going by, Preston looking at his scarf that was dropped on the floor earlier. When Arthur’s done with the handkerchief, he throws it into a corner and sits up properly, looking Preston in the eyes. There’s a seriousness there that makes Preston uneasy.

“I should… also apologize for earlier. I behaved poorly,” he says.

Preston finds the honestly there, but still jokes, “Now you apologize?  _ After _ the sex.”

He watches with a smirk as Arthur sputters, “No, I— Well, yes, but that’s not why I was here— ”

Preston laughs, quieting the other, “I’m teasing, Arthur.”

He turns then, finding Arthur giving him an incredulous look with wide, blue-steel eyes and mouth slightly parted, it’s adorable. It makes him look a lot younger than he wants to appear. 

“What?” Preston huffs.

“You called me by my first name,” he says, as though it answered Preston’s question.

“ _ Okay… _ Do you want me to go back to Elder Maxson?” Preston asks.

“No, I—” Arthur clears his throat, trying to look less flustered and eager, “I think it’s perfectly fine. We’ll be entering an agreement soon and I’d prefer we skip the formalities.”

Preston looks at himself, bare from the waist down, and then at Arthur, whose flaccid cock was still hanging out of his uniform, “Pretty sure we skipped formalities about forty minutes ago,” he deadpans.

“Yes— Well—” Arthur stutters. Preston laughs.

* * *

“Seriously, Pres… How did you do it?” Nora asks as she watches a Vertibird land in Sanctuary. A Brotherhood Scribe exits with a crate of supplies to hand off to Marcy.

“I… have no idea,” Preston says honestly, chuckling to himself, “I guess my evil plan worked?”

“Nonsense, Garvey! You simply took my advice,” Danse greets as he walks up to them in his power armor, “When dealing with Elder Maxson,  _ be assertive _ ,” he says with a proud smile.

Nora turns to Preston, “ _ Assertive _ , huh?”

Preston gives her a sheepish look and opens his mouth to speak, but a familiar voice comes from behind Danse.

“ _ Assertive _ , huh?”

Danse clears his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable, and steps out of the way to let Arthur Maxson step forward. He looks every bit the commander of the Brotherhood, back straight and face expressionless as he observes his Scribes and Initiates dropping off supplies and weapons in exchange for crates of food.

“General,” he addressed Nora with a polite nod before turning to Preston, “Colonel Garvey, good to see you again,” His tone carefully neutral, “I wanted to discuss with you the new patrol routes we’ll be establishing in Southern Boston. Also about the collaboration between the Minutemen and Brotherhood in dealing with those Gunner outposts.”

Nora blinks at Preston, then back to Maxson, looking rather surprised, “I see you’re quite the negotiator, Preston.”

Maxson smirks, “Colonel Garvey  _ certainly _ has quite a way with words, General. You should promote him.” 

Nora gives Arthur a lopsided grin, “He’s my second-in-command. Don’t think I can give him a higher position without resigning.”

Arthur hums, “Shame.”

Preston notices the annoyed twitch Nora’s eye gives and quickly steps in with a nervous chuckle, “Alright, that’s enough with the flattery,” he steps forward, closer to Arthur, “Elder Maxson, I have a map set up over here,” he points to one of the Sanctuary homes, “I’ve also wanted to talk to you about special negotiations regarding certain settlements under the Minutemen’s protection. Follow me.” 

No  _ “please” _ or _ “if you’d kindly” _ , simply a polite command. Arthur nods and follows Preston without another word. Both smiling as they make their way into the privacy of the pre-war house.

They hear Nora ask Danse, “The hell did I miss?”

To which Danse replies, “It… I want to say I know, but I’m not entirely sure now,” sounding equally confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmu on twitter => https://twitter.com/m_u_n_c_h_y

**Author's Note:**

> Hmu on twitter if you wanna talk Fallout stuff, I'm always down!  
> https://twitter.com/m_u_n_c_h_y


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